Pack Your Crap, We're MOVING!

Well, I went and did it. Please to transfer all bookmarks and RSS feeds to:

http://missbanshee.typepad.com/missbanshee/

Or just click on over and go from there.

This site isn't going anywhere, but it's not going to be updated anymore either. So...join me over yonder, won't you? I promise we'll have just as much silliness on TypePad as we did here.

See ya there!

We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties: Please Be Patient

I know, I know, the site looks different every 15 minutes. New Blogger layout? Wordpress? GASP, TYPEPAD? Typepad makes me feel dumb. I find myself yelling at the screen a lot. And having the urge to suck my thumb. Which always helps. Blogger is like the kindergarten of the blogging world. Put the little blocks in order, press the little pictures, all done, yay! You may go outside and play now.

This is what paralyzing boredom does to a person.

Things That I Have Given Way Too Much Thought To Lately:

• What on earth did that bloody cat eat that could result in so much horror on my carpet?
• My parents are returning from Europe - What will be the prezzie situation, and will it include a sexy European man folded neatly in a garment bag? (Ventilated, people! I'm not heartless!)
• Speaking of sexy, will my confession of The Pink Shoes of Shame mean I will be forced into celibacy for eternity?
  
• "America's Got Talent?" Perhaps. "America's Got The Dangerously Insane?" For certain.
• Watching Intervention: Totally counts as a meeting, if I drink coffee and talk back at the screen, right? Plus, I can do it in my jammies.
• I'm serious, WHAT did that cat EAT? I need stock in carpet cleaner.
• HTML: Will I ever learn it? More accurately, will I ever stop pretending I WANT to learn it?
• Living across from Friendly's, which is the crack den of ice cream: Morbid obesity imminent?
• Facebook status updates: Why am I obsessed?
• Making lists on blog: Please stop, implores internet.

Scenes from Insomnia

As I have been talking about incessantly lately to anyone who will stay still for three milliseconds, I've been suffering (SUFFERING!) from insomnia. It's a side effect of my (lovely and amazing) brain pills, and I've been soldiering through, since I'd rather be awake and sane than sleepy and bonkers. However, when one hits around 72 hours straight of wakefulness, sanity becomes a distant memory. I offer this entry as a deep and heartfelt apology to all and any of my friends, who really must be deleting my screen name from their IM clients as we speak. As well they should.

Things that seem like a super idea at 4 AM, which are in actuality never a super idea, not even a little:

1. Walking into town in overalls, a sports bra, and a studded collar.
2. Knitting five bags, three hats, and a set of fingerless gloves
3. Which is appropriate, since my hands are falling off from the incessant knitting
4. Taking pictures of self looking like Trainspotting 2: Even More Attractive
   
5. Making a pot of coffee, because why the hell not?
6. Or two pots.
   
7. Writing what seem to be utterly brilliant blog entries and MamaPop articles, only to realize they are more like "manifestos" and "not spelled correctly, even a little bit"
8. Listening to Joy Division
9. Hysterically crying
10. IMing with unsuspecting friends:

missbanshee: I'm walking into town!
friend of banshee: That is a spectacularly bad idea.
missbanshee: I can't stay still! I'm out of yarn! Gotta walk!
FOB: No walking. Shut the door and get in the bed.
missbanshee: The bed has shunned me. Like the Amish. I shall never lie in the bed again!
FOB: Well fine. The couch then. Shut the door, LOCK THE DOOR, and sit on the couch.
missbanshee: Is that a direct order?
FOB: YES. Yes, that is a direct order. Uh...obey me!
missbanshee: That is so sexy.

Of course, there are other things that happen to one's brain on no sleep. Things become very black and white. (And pretty colors, after the 48 hour mark, but that's neither here nor there.) Situations, people and things are reduced to being paralyzingly funny or horrifically awful. Non-sequitors abound. Y'all? No one is ever going to talk to me ever again.

4:23 AM

FOB: I really need to go to sleep, dude. It's past 1 AM.
missbanshee: WHAT? You're three hours behind me! Suck it up, California person! Let's vacuum under my bed.
FOB: What? Let's NOT. You have neighbors, remember? Neighbors who will kill you if you start running the vacuum at 4 in the damn morning.
missbanshee: *lower lip quivering* My bedroom is so dusty. You know why? Because it's LONELY. My bed has never had anyone in it but ME. No one loves me! I'm going to die alone and no one will know until the STENCH from my DECOMPOSING CORPSE permeates my WHOLE BUILDING. *sobs*
FOB: Oh jeez. Um...uh...Hey, would vacuuming make you feel better? Why don't you vacuum. That's a great idea.
missbanshee: No, that's stupid. It's 4 AM! I'm going to scrub the kitchen floor.
FOB: Perfect.

So yeah. I've been a delight to be around. Now that I'm on the equivalent of a horse tranquilizer (thanks, doc!) and getting some sleep, I see what I've been doing, and, to everyone I have tormented within an inch of their unsuspecting lives as of late? I'm really, really sorry. Please forgive me. I've knitted you a pantsuit in gratitude!

Now if you'll excuse me, the contents of my freezer aren't going to alphabetize themselves, you know.

Poll Time! Do You Hate This Layout, Or What?

Welcome to today's installment of "Keeping Busy to Keep Teh Crazy At Bay!" So it's poll time, my precious little squirrels. I want your opinions. Do ya hate Blogger? This layout give you a pain? Or are you as terrified of change as I am, and want nothing to change at Inverse Candlelight? Do you not care at all, with a vengeance, even?

I've made a mirror site at Wordpress, and I'd love your opinion. Do we stay here, on our comfy Blogger couch, or move on up to the East Side? Take a look over at Wordpress, and come back to vote in the poll! Please? I'll give you a hug!

eHarmony Can eBite Me

I am a single woman. Free as a bird. No strings attached. Woo, feminism and hear me roar and let me burn that bra. No man for me! My bathroom is so clean!

It sucks.

It sucks, and I don't care if all the militants are getting the vapors, I am being honest. I am lonely as hell, and after over two years (YEARS) of being single, I have had just about enough of it. I'm not the random hookup kind of gal, (not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just not my bag, man) and since I don't have any friends in the area, I don't so much...leave my apartment. Ever. I have awesome, tremendous, fiercely loved friends, don't get me wrong, and I'd waltz through blazing fires for any of them, but there's not a one of them who could just randomly come over for a cup of coffee and a bad movie. Not an option. Yeah. Suck.

"So go out!" my friends wail. "Meet people! Do things! Stop spending eleventy million hours on the internet every day and go interact with actual people!" Well, this is easier said than done. For one, where the hell do I go? My whole adult life, the only social venues I have utilized are friends' houses and bars. And I am not allowed to go to bars anymore, in case you haven't heard. I have crippling social anxiety, and the concept of New People terrifies me. No new people! Only people who have read the dossier regarding Mah Crazy: Let Me Show You It! For I am vair, vair uninterested in having to carefully reveal the dramz to anyone new. I have a feeling it would end with "and then he ran away like his dick was on fire."

And to be honest, I was really destroyed by my last breakup. I'm not going to trust a new person for a really long time. There are also other factors of acursed circumstance that the internet doesn't get to hear, but yeah, going out and finding a local cat to start the awkward beginning-dating thing? Eeesh. Not really interested, thanks.

I can just picture my personal ad now:

"SWF seeks SM for possible LTR. Enjoys tv, playing on the internet, yarn, and coffee. SM must be open to mental illness, addiction recovery, arts and crafts addiction, pop-culture obsession, random goofiness, clumsiness, and cleaning up after barfy cats. Please have a job, your own apartment, a wicked sense of humor, and a bank account of your very own. No man-children, meanies, or frattys, please. Email only, the phone gives me anxiety attacks."

Woo, buddy, they'd be knocking down the door! Not that I'd ever place a personal ad. I have been on one (1) personal-ad date in my life, about five years ago. It was awful. But not in the way you probably guess. Nope, he was gorgeous, talented, funny, smart, (did I mention gorgeous?) and, drum roll...HE DIDN'T LIKE ME. Oh, that's just GRAND. So no. No personal ads.

(At this point, my friend cuparfyfe is eating his own face and screaming at the computer screen about how all I do is self-sabotage and dig my own grave re: relationships. He is...not wrong.)

So what the hell is my point, for the love of God's argyle socks? What was the reasoning for this blithering rant, when clearly I am not actually going to DO anything about this situation other than point at myself and howl "UNLOVABLE!!! MENTALLY DISEASED!!! RUN AWAY!!!"

My point is that fucking eHarmony dot com should not use a dude who resembles Zippy the Pinhead in their commercials to motivate me to "find my match." Do NOT call me, Zippy. And tell JoJo the Dogface Boy he doesn't have to bother either. I'll just play some Facebook Scrabble with my beloved, if not geographically convienient friends and knit more hats for the cats.

Saturday Arts n Crafts!

Saturday is Craftyday!

Must keep busy. Shark Week too exciting to stay still.
Not unlike Mme. LaFarge, knitting away for France.

Tada! Am v. talented and fabulous.

One word about my knitting hat and I'll gut you like chum.

Have a lovely weekend, internet!

Today's Actual Conversation: Tough Love With the Internet

Me: Internet, we need to talk.

Internet: Well, come sit by me, baby. What's on your pretty little mind?

Me: I'm not falling for it today. The platitudes, the lovey-speak. I can't do it. This relationship...it's just not healthy. Something has to change.

Internet: I don't know what you're talking about, angel-face. You know I love you!

Me: Oh, I love you so much! I lo-Wait. Wait, no, we really need to talk. Stop doing that.

Internet: What am I doing, my precious little cupcake, other than worshiping and adoring you?

Me: You're making me lose focus. Look, some shit has gone down in the last week that makes me think that maybe you're punishing me a little bit. In a very passive-aggressive way. I've written down some examples...

Internet: You didn't cheat on me with Word, did you? I thought I corrupted that program for good this time.

Me: No, Word isn't working right no-Hey! What did you just say???

Internet: I said that you look utterly irresistible in those overalls.

Me: Oh, okay, aw, thank you...Wait, dammit! I'm trying to make a point here! Okay, so here's some points I wanted to make regarding some shady behavior on your part that I've noticed lately.

Internet: I'm all ears, my sweet love.

Me: Sigh. Okay. Now, yesterday for example. You let those hackers into my site, my beloved bloggity blog, and they redirected my stats counter to a Russian mail order bride website. I lost everything! Why did you do that? Is this because I can't seem to decide on a browser? I always come back to Firefox, you know that.

Internet: When you do that, I don't know from day to day which shoes to wear to compliment my browser. It's confusing.

Me: The internet wears shoes?

Internet: FABULOUS shoes. Hey baby, let's stop talking about this and go look at shoes. Look, I've got Zappos aaaaaall bookmarked for you. My treat.

Me: Ooooooh, yeah, let's see what's new for fall...NO! No, we're not looking at shoes. We're talking about our relationship!

Internet: How about pants? I love you so much, baby. Let me show you some pants that will make your ass look FANTASTIC.

Me: Oh, pants...NO! No, and this is another point I wanted to make! My credit card cannot take it, with all the books and music and dvds and shoes and pants! I am unemployed, Internet, you KNOW that! It's all I can do to scrounge the money to keep you CONNECTED every month! And all you do is enable me to buy things I can't afford! The Program talks about enablers, you know. We just...we can't go on like this. It's not healthy.

Internet: You know, as you've been adorably rambling, four of your friends have changed their Facebook statuses, and you've got seventeen new RSS stories to read.

Me: Oh, CRAP! Okay, lemme check. Hey, do you think I'll get some nice comments on my last post? Oh, and I uploaded a bunch of new pictures to Flickr, better check that too, and oh, hold on, it's my turn on Scrabble, and I've got MamaPop comments to read...

*MANY, MANY HOURS PASS*

Internet: *smokes cigarette with a satisfied and sated grin*

Me: *looks blearily around for all the time and energy I have misplaced, like underpants after a one night stand*

Me: What was I saying? I feel like I was saying something before.

Internet: You were just telling me how much you love me. And I love you too, baby. I'm not like the others, my darling. I'll never ever leave you. Now stop worrying that pretty little head of yours and let's go find some precious little jewelry with charms that look like sushi rolls.

Me: You're right...I don't know what I was thinking. I love you too, Internet. Are you...sure I wasn't saying something before?

Internet: Shhhhh, my darling. Shhhhhhhhhhh...